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From Chapter 22
Wonder what little Jemmy thinks of his war now? Such was the contemptuous attitude of George Cockburn as he beheld his pearly white treasure the night of August 24. Though disappointed to find the Madisons weren’t at home, he was still as happy as he could possibly be. Here was the opportunity to bring glory to England.
Cockburn and Ross gave orders. Some of their men invaded the President’s House, while others stayed outside and prepared to launch their rockets or fiery poles. Many, especially the officers, strode the steps and boldly placed their boots onto the floor of the entry hall. They quickly scattered throughout the rooms. Cockburn couldn’t have been more delighted to tour this mansion and see the beautiful rooms decorated by Mrs. Madison.
Soon his nose overtook his bulging eyes. While noting small engraved drawings of Dolley and the president hanging on the walls, Madison’s fine dress sword, her gowns, and other valuables, what attracted the most attention that night was the dining room. Why? Because it was full of something that Cockburn and his men hadn’t had seen much of all day long—food and wine. Though abandoned, the White House was set and ready to entertain the admiral as if he’d received an invitation.
Lt. Scott described the feast that awaited them: “A large store of super excellent Madeira and other costly wines stood cooling in ice in one corner of the spacious dining-room.”
While she was as absent as could be, Dolley’s hospitable presence was very much felt. The optimistic effort she’d made to prepare a victory celebration for her husband and his officers took the form of a table set for a party of forty, complete with silver bowls covering the plates. To Cockburn and Scott’s delight, the $500 china set along with silver knives, forks, and spoons glistened while fully-cooked food rested on the hearth.
“We found the cloth laid for the expected victorious generals, and all the appliances and meals to form a feast worthy the resolute champions of republican freedom.”
Cockburn did what any leader would do. He put the primal needs of his officers ahead of their mission. They could wait to finish the job. Hence he ordered them to partake of the providential feast. After all, they’d had a very long day, from marching from camp at daybreak to marching again at sunset. Setting fire to buildings was hard work.
Scott was very pleased by his boss’s decision to enjoy the moment. “Never was nectar more grateful to the palates of the gods, than the crystal goblet of Madeira and water I quaffed off at Mr. Madison’s expense.”
A feast like this wouldn’t be complete without one key thing: a toast. And Cockburn knew exactly who should join him: an American who owed his paycheck to the happenings of Capitol Hill.
